Danmachi: The Quiet Reincarnate

Author: F**kin Hell init mate? I AM ON CRACK!!!

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He continued his journey, moving through the winding paths of the third floor. The previous Crimson Rebirth had made him stronger, and his movements were more fluid, his attacks more devastating.

He encountered more varied monsters: Needle Hornets, buzzing pests that could deliver painful stings; and larger Kobold Sentinels, more aggressive and cunning versions of their kin, often appearing in small, organized groups. He cut them down with practiced ease, his sword a deadly extension of his will.

The Bladebond skill was constantly active now, the slight injuries he sustained from minor monster attacks continually sharpening his precision and speed. The slight, dull ache he felt when uninjured was a distant memory, replaced by the constant, low-level hum of his sword, eager for action.

He came upon another group of adventurers, a party of three comprised of two men and one woman. The woman, a skilled spear-wielder with long, braided blonde hair, was expertly fending off a charging High Kobold (a stronger, faster variant of Kobold) while her companions tried to flank it.

Cael watched for a moment, observing her fluid, defensive movements. She was good, but the monster was relentless.

Without a word, Cael moved, a blur of motion. He circled behind the High Kobold with impossible speed, driving his sword into its exposed back with a powerful thrust. The monster roared once, then dissolved into mist.

The spear-wielding woman turned, her eyes wide with surprise and awe. Her companions stared at Cael, their mouths slightly agape.

"You… you killed it so fast," one of the men stammered.

Cael merely gave a curt nod. "Be careful," he advised, his voice low, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. "More will come."

He began to move past them, gathering the magic stone.

The woman's eyes followed him, a thoughtful, impressed look on her face. "He's fast," she murmured to her comrades. "And his sword… it moved like lightning."

One of her male companions grumbled, "Lucky strike, maybe."

But she shook her head. "No. That was skill. Pure skill. And he barely even broke a sweat." She watched his retreating back, a faint interest sparking in her eyes.

Cael, however, was already focused on his next encounter, the low hum of his Bladebond urging him onward.

He spent several more hours exploring the third floor, engaging in continuous combat. He honed his movements, his strikes becoming even more precise, his dodges more economical. He was a force of nature, a silent, relentless hunter within the Dungeon.

He felt the familiar surge of excelia, another Crimson Rebirth building, each one more profound than the last.

He found a small, desolate cave, almost hidden from view, and collapsed inside just as the agonizing transformation seized him once more.

Crimson Rebirth Activated.

This one was even worse. It felt as if his very identity was being stripped away, remade from raw matter. His mind reeled under the pure, unadulterated torment.

He bit down so hard his jaw ached, a guttural scream tearing at his throat but remaining trapped behind his clenched teeth.

His entire body spasmed, bones grating, muscles tearing and reknitting with horrifying speed. He was a vessel for agony, a crucible of evolution.

The pain was all-consuming, a burning, freezing, tearing, crushing sensation that lasted for an eternity.

When it finally released him, Cael lay there, utterly broken and remade. He was panting, his body drenched in sweat, every muscle screaming in protest.

Yet, beneath the exhaustion, there was an undeniable, immense power thrumming. He could feel the profound changes. His body felt lighter, yet more solid. Faster, stronger, more enduring.

He was a different person, forged in the fires of suffering.

He slowly pushed himself up, his limbs still trembling from the ordeal. His vision was clear, his mind sharper than ever.

He looked at his hands, clenching them into fists. This is what it means, he thought, a grim determination hardening his gaze. This is the path I walk.

He knew he was approaching the deeper levels of the Dungeon. He could feel the air growing colder, heavier, hinting at the dangerous descent.

He could see a wider, more pronounced spiral path leading downwards, the entrance to the formidable fourth floor.

He stood for a moment, contemplating the dark maw of the fourth floor. He had spent enough time in the Dungeon for his first delve.

He had pushed his body to its limits, experienced the agonizing reality of his skills, and grown significantly.

He turned away from the descending path, his resolve firm. It was time to return. Time to inform Hestia of his progress, and to prepare for the next delve.

He had faced the Dungeon and survived. He had faced his own curse and embraced it.

His future, forged in pain, was just beginning.